Chapter 6 - Meeting

The view across the Pelennor Fields never failed to catch Eowyn’s breath. She stood on the walls of the White City with Cirion in her arms pointing out the sights. Cirion was not as impressed as his mother by the view and was instead trying to climb down over her shoulder.

“Ciri,” Eowyn chided softly. “If you want to go down all you have to do is ask.”

Turning she deposited the babe on the ground and watched him toddle towards the grassy area in front of the white tree.

“Don’t touch the tree!” she called.

“I fought too many wars to keep this place sacred and you let that ruffian run wild here!”

She turned to see Faramir approaching. He stood beside her by the wall. He looked out over the plains.

“It does my heart good to be here once more,” he breathed as the wind gently played with his hair.

“How is the King?” Eowyn asked.

“He is fine. Wishing he could go out and hunt some orc, I think, instead of staying here having to prepare for the celebrations.”

“And the treaty?”

Faramir looked away from her gaze. He shuffled his feet nervously. “Osgiliath glows in the sunshine once more,” he said wistfully as he stared out to where the new city grew from the ruins of the old.

Eowyn pouted. “Faramir, I want no false modesty, what did he think about your work? You spent long enough working on it.”

Behind them Cirion fell and began to cry. Eowyn thought she detected relief in her husband’s eyes as he quickly moved to pick up his son.

Lifting the crying child into his arms, Faramir comforted him until the tears stopped.

“There is a reception tonight,” Faramir said. “The King expressly asked that you attend. Your brother will be there and all the others.”

“Do you want to go?” Eowyn asked as he passed the now quiet child back to her.

He looked away shrugging. “I think I have to.”

“And when will you go to the Houses of Healing?” she asked.

“Where is Elboron?” Faramir asked.

“He is down at the Military School, you remember?”

Faramir rubbed his forehead.

“Are you getting a headache again?” she asked with concern.

“It’s nothing.”

She reached out to him then, and he saw the worry in her eyes. “Please Faramir, you promised!”

A shadow passed across his face dark and deep as his eyes flashed angrily. He lifted his hand to push her away, but something stopped him. He stood with his hand in mid air for a moment, and then he gulped in a long breath.

Moving his hand he pushed it through his hair guiltily. He turned back to where Eowyn stood her hands full of squirming baby.

“I know I promised. Go back to our lodgings, get ready for tonight Eowyn, and I will get Elboron. I swear to you I will go to the Healers before we leave.”

She nodded, her eyes holding his to seal his vow. “That is enough for me.”

As she began to walk away, he called to her. “Eowyn, wear your finest dress. You will be the most beautiful woman tonight.”

She smiled weakly and turned away so he did not see the tears that threatened to roll down her face.

******************************************************

“Sister!” Eomer’s voice boomed across the room, and he arrived at Eowyn’s side only moments later, picking up his sister and enveloping her in a crushing embrace.

“Put me down, you big oaf!” She laughed. “You’re a King now. Start acting like one!”

“And you’re a wife and mother now. Where are my nephews and your husband, for I hear he has hit the mark once more. I knew he was good with a bow but that’s not the only target he seems to hit with regularity!”

She thumped him playfully. “Is that your unsophisticated, heathen way of giving me congratulations over my pregnancy?”

“Unsophisticated! Since when have you thought of the Rohirrim as heathen, sister dear? Where is the Steward that I may inform him he is filling his wife’s head with lies and untruths and turning you into a woman of Gondor! How I weep for the Shieldmaiden you once were,” he boomed.

“Peace, Eomer-King,” said King Elessar as he appeared to Eowyn’s left. “Although your sister spent a life time enduring your humour, the rest of the Court of Gondor have somewhat more delicate sensibilities.”

Eomer turned to fix his King with his uncompromising stare. “King Elessar, you begin to sound like a true politician!”

He moved forward,and they embraced each other in a brotherly hug, “I will take that as a compliment, Eomer, although I am not entirely sure that is how it was meant!” Aragorn muttered.

Eomer simply smiled wider. “I cannot conceive what you mean.” He cast a knowing glance toward his sister. “As a lowly vassel from one of your least sophisticated realms, one could even call it heathen, I know nothing of the complexities of court politics.”

Despite herself Eowyn found she was sticking her tongue out at her brother. She managed to withdraw it before the King turned to see her. Eomer shamelessly rolled his eyes and smiled glibly.

They were in the informal meeting rooms where they had retired following the formal banquet, which had lasted for most of the evening. At the meal, the atmosphere had been distinctly starchy but now the King had invited his dearest friends to this rather exclusive get together, most appeared to be more relaxed.

As if to underline this, Eomer grabbed Legolas and Gimli in quick succession with one of his famous bear hugs. “Where is the ale?” his voice boomed.

“You are well, lady?” Aragorn asked Eowyn as the others moved away towards the drink.

Eowyn curtsied. “Yes, thank you, Sire,” she replied, not daring to meet his eye in case he perceived the pain that lingered there.

“Faramir informs me that you are awaiting another happy event. My congratulations to you.”

She inclined her head shyly. “Thank you, Sire.”

She always felt ill at ease in the King’s presence, bearing in mind their previous relationship. She glanced toward the doors wishing her husband would return soon. He had felt unwell after the meal and had excused himself to take a little air, but he should have come back by now.

Although there was no sign of Faramir, her brother appeared back at her shoulder a brimming pot of ale clutched in his hand. Behind him Eowyn saw Legolas staring intently out of the window into the courtyard below.

“Where is the Queen?” Eomer asked the King direct as ever.

Aragorn smiled. “She went to check on Eldarion. A mother is never really well satisfied when she is away from her baby as Lady Eowyn would understand. “

Eowyn smiled but could find nothing to say.

“How was winter in the wilds of Ithilien?” Eomer asked.

“It was cold,” Eowyn snapped back. “But no colder than I recall Eldoras to be, brother.”

“And at least there you had the Steward to keep you warm, eh sister? Where is he anyway? I haven’t had chance to greet him properly yet.”

“His ribs are still bruised since the last time you gave him one of your hugs!” Eowyn retorted. “And for your information, he was most busy over the winter completing an important treaty for the King!”

Eowyn felt herself redden. What was it about her brother that made her regress to the little sister she had once been? Why couldn’t she control it? What would the King think of her?

She glanced at him meaning to apologise, but the look on his face stopped her.

“What treaty is that, my lady?” he asked mildly.

She bit her lip nervously, not quite sure what he wanted her to say, but he seemed genuinely puzzled.

Finally she decided to come clean. “The treaty for the Harad my lord,” she said. “Lord Faramir spent most of the winter working on it.”

King Elessar cocked his head to one side and regarded her intently.

“Treaty with the Harad!” Eomer boomed. “He’s been having you on, sister!”

Eowyn felt her colour deepening. “What?” she whispered.

The King gazed at her with sympathy. “I think you must be mistaken, my lady. I don’t know what Faramir has told you, but I have no intention of signing a treaty with the Harad. In fact, after the celebrations tomorrow, as they continue to raid our settlements, I have called a counsel to discuss how we can best deal with them.”

Eowyn’s mouth fell open. She felt tears of embarrassment prickle her eyes. How could there be no treaty? What had Faramir been doing for all those hours in his study if not writing the treaty? Why had he lied to her? As she thought on it, she realised that she had never actually seen him working on the treaty. Whenever she had entered his study he appeared to be simply sitting at his desk staring into space. Why would he do that?

She gulped. “Oh, I am so sorry. I must have misunderstood, Sire. How silly of me.” Words fell forth from her mouth as both the King and her brother stared at her as if she was mad. “You mentioned mothers and their children, lord. I do believe it’s time for me to check on mine!”

She curtsied again and retreated.

Eomer and Aragorn exchanged bewildered glances. “What was that all about?” the King asked.

Eomer shrugged. “It seems that not only has he decided not to grace us with his presence tonight, but also your Steward hasn’t been too honest with his wife.”

“Treaty with the Harad.” Aragorn shook his head. “Although I know Faramir wishes for peace as much as any man, I know he is aware of their continuing hostility and resistance to our advances. I have not asked him to write any treaty. I wish we were at that stage.”

Eomer finished his drink. “If he is playing her false, I will flay him alive!”

“Faramir! I could not believe that.” Aragorn found he was shocked at the very thought.

Eomer sniffed. “You’re right, of course, Sire. Faramir is the last man I would think that of. He’s the sort that makes it impossible for the rest of us to live up to his standard.” He burped loudly. “I need more beer!” he said and moved for a refill.

Legolas had felt something disquieting itching at his conscience all day. It had become suddenly more pronounced, which is why he had moved toward the window. It was dark outside, but the courtyard was brilliantly lit so the elf could quite clearly see Lord Faramir leaning against a far wall. The Steward was alone, his shoulders slumped and head down. When they had met earlier, Legolas had noted the paleness of his face and the dark lines betraying lack of sleep beneath the Steward’s eyes. He was about to turn away when a second figure entered the courtyard.

This figure was tall and straight, appearing to glide across the ground. Legolas peered at the figure, but even his elfin eyes could not see past the black cloak that obscured its features. Gracefully it moved to where Faramir stood. It was not until the figure reached him that Faramir lifted his head, still he never looked at the figure but cocked his head as if listening intently.

Legolas felt his sense of disquiet grow into something more, but he could not see anything particularly suspicious. Faramir had been born and raised in this city. That he would meet someone like this was not unreasonable, even if it did appear a little odd that the other wanted to keep his identity secret.

“Legolas!” Gimli’s voice growled from close to the bar. “Do you want a drink?”

The elf glanced toward him and raised a hand for silence. As he looked back, he thought he glimpsed a green light that flashed in the figure’s dark cloak and was gone.

Faramir changed position slightly to stare intently at where the green light appeared.

As Gimli came up behind Legolas, the dark figure acquiesced into the shadows, leaving the Steward alone. Faramir seemed to shake his head to clear it, and then stood away from the wall.

“Who is that?” Gimli asked as he pressed a goblet of wine into Legolas’ hand.

“Lord Faramir,” Legolas replied.

“What’s the laddie doing down there? Doesn’t he know the party’s up here?”

“I don’t know,” Legolas replied. “But I don’t like it.”

Gimli guffawed. “You elves see conspiracies everywhere, Legolas! Young Faramir is probably the worse for drink.”

“I watched him at the meal.” Legolas said. “He drank and ate very little.”

“Then he’s probably just worried about the ceremony tomorrow. He’s a deep one that one, and he has a big part to play now he’s Steward.”

Faramir was walking slowly across the lawn as if deep in thought.

Legolas snorted. “Yes, I suppose you’re right,” he conceded and downed the goblet. “Now where is the table that I may drink you under it?”

Gimli laughed. “That’s the spirit!”